Christmas witht the Hojems
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Slash. Holiday fluff. A sequel to Dilemma. Grissom spends the Christmas holidays with Greg's family and finds out what papa Olaf thinks of him. COMPLETE!
1. Uncle Gil or Papa Gil?

CHRISTMAS WITH THE HOJEMS

No dramas here. Just a little Christmas fluff.

A sequel to "Dilemma". (But you don't have to read Dilemma in order to understand this story. All you need to know is that Karen, one of Greg's sisters, used to torture insects when she was a little girl. Needless to say, she and Gil hated each other on sight.) Oh, and that Greg & Gil's favorite donut place is called 'Loving Bear Donuts.'

Spoilers: In Scuba Dobie-Do, Grissom mentions an uncle called Herb. In Let the Seller Beware, Grissom reveals that Greg's mother's maiden name was Hojem.

This story's told from Gil's POV.

* * *

Snow. 

It covered every surface in the garden -the ground, the bushes and the trees, and the tall wall that surrounded the property. It altered their shapes and made them beautiful.

The air was clean and crisp, and every time I took a deep breath, my nose hurt. I'd forgotten what it felt like, this cold –so different from the cold of the desert. I'd forgotten how much I loved it.

How much I'd missed it.

Beyond the wall I could see miles and miles of land blanketed in white, and suddenly, I forgot how tired I was. All I wanted was to go out and do a little exploring.

I glanced around. No one was watching me.

Perfect.

I sneaked away. My feet sank in the snow, making every step a struggle, but I was so drawn by the possibility of escape that I quickly made my way towards the gate.

It was locked –not surprisingly; there were little kids playing in the garden, after all.

I shook it, just to make sure. Powdery snow fell, but that was all. According to Greg, papa Olaf had forged the gate himself, and the intricate design was a testimony of the old man's skills. That gate had withstood the passing of time and the rage of the elements, and it was not going to fall just because someone shook it.

I was trapped.

Wistfully, I looked at the landscape beyond papa Olaf's home, there were lonely houses out there, and lonely roads that seemed to disappear into the hills. All I wanted at the moment was to go out and find out where they led to.

It was just the sort of thing I used to do when I was a kid. Armed with a book of Jack London stories, I'd take long walks in the snow and pretend that I was an adventurer looking for gold, a scientist on the brink of some amazing discovery, or just a poor soul trying to survive in the cold.

I know, I know; I was a weird kid.

I'd used my imagination in order to survive my childhood; maybe I could use it again. I closed my eyes and made myself believe that I was not in Minnesota, spending the Christmas holiday with the Hojems. Instead, I was walking in the snow, getting away from it all...

I could almost taste freedom, when all of a sudden, real life intruded. A chorus of shrill voices exploded behind my back.

"Gimme! Gimme!"

"No! I'll tell mommy!"

"No, you won't!"

"Yes, I will!"

"No, you won't!"

"Yes, I will!"

Oh, for God's sake. I couldn't believe kids could sustain entire conversations using variations of the words, 'did not/did too'.

I couldn't believe the amount of questions that a single kid could ask, either. Or the amount of requests that a single kid could make -let alone six. And mostly, I couldn't believe that I'd been baby-sitting those kids for over an hour now.

I shouldn't have come.

It was December 24 and I should have been in Las Vegas, retrieving evidence from some gory, bloody crime scene (there was always a gory, bloody one for Christmas), and interrogating witnesses. Instead, I wasat papa Olaf's old home, freezing my ass while taking care of Greg's nephews, and answering questions like, 'Why is Snow White?' (or trying to, 'til I realized that the kids were only playing jokes on me).

But even when the kids' questions were legitimate, I couldn't help wondering why they didn't simply looked up the answers in a book.

That's what I did when I was a kid.

Of course, there are questions whose answers can't be found in books. Questions like, '_Why did I leave the safety of Las Vegas for the uncertainty of Minnesota?'_ And mostly, '_Why did I let Greg's sisters do this to me?'_

That morning, just as I was finishing breakfast, each of them had come up with the flimsiest of excuses in order to get out of the house. ('Gil, I need to run some errands, could you watch over my kids for a couple of hours? Thanks!' 'Gil, I need to go to town, can I leave Mandy and Candy with you? Thanks!')

Only Karen was honest enough to say, 'I need to get away for a few hours, Gil; if I don't, I'll end up smacking their bottoms until they glow red. Thank you!' She didn't even wait for me to say yes; she just bolted. And all I could think was that if a couple of little kids could rattle Greg's psycho sister, then I was in trouble.

At the time, I'd been looking forward to settling down somewhere quiet, with a book on my lap. But before I could come up with some excuse, I found myself surrounded by six kids, all of them looking up expectantly.

Greg had come to the rescue; he had babysat the children for the last couple of weeks and knew how to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, about an hour ago he'd gone back inside, ostensibly at papa Olaf's request. He hadn't returned yet.

It felt like he'd deserted me.

And now, my patience was running thin.

Perhaps the kids knew, because all of a sudden, their voices died down. I looked around, but they were nowhere in sight. They had to be somewhere close -we were in an enclosed garden, after all- but there were enough places they could hide in.

It was unnerving. I was fed up with their noisy presence, but this absolute silence was worse.

Suddenly, a shrill voice called out.

"Gil, Gil, look!"

"Yes?" I said and I turned.

SPLAT! A snowball hit me full on the face and the kids exploded with laughter. I didn't waste any time brushing off the snow; I crouched and gathered enough snow to make a huge ball that I quickly threw at my attacker, hitting her right on the behind. More laughter followed as they scampered, presumably in case I wanted to give pursuit.

Yeah, right. Like I was going to run after those kids. They were not my responsibility; they were Greg's.

I turned to the gate and once again I tried to imagine I was far, far away. Almost immediately I heard steps. I turned, bracing myself for a renewed snowball attack. Fortunately, it was only Greg.

Unfortunately, seeing me covered with snow seemed to amuse him.

"You look like you ate too many Loving Bear sugar donuts!"

"Hey, Sanders," I said morosely, "Tell your nephews and nieces to take it easy, ok?"

He smirked.

"Don't tell _me_." He said, brushing the snow off my beard. "Tell it to the man who taught them to throw a snowball with such precision."

Uh, that would be me.

But those kids really needed help. Apparently, no one had ever taken the time to teach them the finer points of ball-throwing; in fact, it looked like they had never even held a ball in their hands, much less a bat.

I'd simply tried to keep them occupied, but I never imagined they'd turn out to be such good pupils.

"You took a long time in there," I muttered, "What did your grandfather want?"

"We had a talk." He said evasively, "I'll tell you later. There," he added, pulling back to look at me, "You're clean now, big bear."

He'd been calling bear because of the brown coat I was wearing, the thickest one I owned –one of the few items I'd saved from my old days in Chicago. It was warm and serviceable, but a bit ratty.

"So, are you having fun?" he smirked.

"What do you think?" I glared.

His smile faltered a little for the first time.

"Sorry." he said. He leant on the gate and looked at me, "This is not what you expected, huh?"

Hell, no.

I had not endured Ecklie's sarcastic questioning, ('_You? You want some time off? Whatever for? Is there some little lady waiting for you, Gil?_)or his patronizing comments, ('_As AD, I have to make tough decisions, Gil. I can't let you go on vacation on December; if I let you, then I'd have to let everybody else go_,') to end up like this.

I had come because Greg's late night calls had been filled with pleas for me to join him: From whiny, ('_I miss you, Grissom; it's lonely here_,') to crude, ('_My right hand's just no substitute for yours, Grissom_')

Those calls had tempted me, but the one call that had finally spurred me into action was the one that ended with, '_What's the good of dating the boss if he can't take some vacation time when he damn pleases?'_

"You said you were bored." I said accusingly. "You made it sound like there was nothing to do around here-"

"I _was_ bored." He replied, "Look," he said, and then he lowered his voice, "I love my nephews and nieces, and I like taking care of them; but at the end of the day, I need some adult conversation, too. And some adult _entertainment_, if you know what I mean." He added, wiggling his eyebrows.

I smiled despite myself.

"Besides," he said, more confidently now, "You missed me too, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't have come. You're the one who's always telling me that crime rates always rise during the holidays. The fact that you left the lab on Christmas -"

"Catherine was willing to take over," I pointed out, "Otherwise, I wouldn't -"

"You missed me, Grissom," he interrupted, "Come on, just admit it."

He smiled winningly at me.

Oh, yeah, I'd missed him.

"Maybe I did," I conceded. "Maybe I realized that _my_ right hand's no substitute for yours."

He chuckled.

I turned my attention back to the landscape beyond the gate. I still wasn't placated. He was right, this was not what I'd expected. I'd fantasized about spending my time with him, in front of a fire, under a heavy quilt. Just the two of us.

"I still can't believe Ecklie signed your request." Greg said, "He must have given you a hard time."

"You have no idea." I muttered.

He put his hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, I'm going to make it up to you, ok?" he said, "I promise."

I leant forward and he met me halfway for a kiss, but just as our mouths were about to touch, we heard muffled laughter coming from behind the snow-covered bushes.

The kids were spying on us.

I reluctantly pulled back.

"Hey, we can kiss," he said, "The kids already know."

But I didn't want an audience, and I certainly didn't want their parents to know we'd been making out instead of watching over their brood. I closed my eyes and leant my forehead against the cold gate.

"Tell me again," I said mournfully, "Why are we doing this?"

It sounded dangerously close to a whine, but I was really pissed off.

Greg patted my back.

"I told you," he said, "I've been taking care of the kids, and-"

"Can't their parents do that?" I complained, "You know, I can't believe they were willing to leave their kids with me. They barely know me."

"You're practically family, Grissom. And the kids like you already. You taught them to throw a ball. Nobody had done that."

"What about their parents?"

"They're just too busy to do that." He lowered his voice, "Look. My sisters married serious, stuffy guys, Grissom; they'd never get down and play with their kids. But when _I_ was a kid, I had someone who did; someone who paid attention to me and made me feel important-"

"Who?"

"Papa Olaf," he said. "He took an interest on us; he practically raised us, along with mama Asty. Papa Olaf always made it a point to know what our interests were- sports, science, whatever. I wasn't good at sports, so he found out what I liked and then he learned chess just because of me. He took my sisters to ballet and karate classes-"

"He did all that?"

"Sure! You look at him now and all you see is a little old man taking a nap in front of the fire. But twenty years ago, he was tireless; he took us everywhere, he listened to our problems, and he even had energy left to play games. He and mama Asty were always there for us. These kids... they won't have that."

"But they have you." I said.

"I'm trying." he shrugged.

I stared at him.

"What?" he frowned.

"Nothing." I said. I was thinking of my uncle Herb, the plumber, who had helped pay for my education. Where would I be if it hadn't been for him? "You're a good guy, Greg." I said.

"Nah," he said self-deprecatingly. "I'm just a concerned uncle." he said. "But hey," he added, patting my back again, "You don't have to be out here with me, Grissom," he said kindly, "I mean, you must be tired after your flight. If you want to go inside and take a nap-"

"A nap?" I asked indignantly. Who did he think I was, _papa Gil_? "I'm fine." I said, "Why don't we round up the kids and help them build a snowman?"

But before he could answer, a shrill voice called out, 'Uncle Gil, uncle Gil, look!'

Greg and me exchanged a smile. I was an _uncle_ now.

I turned.

"Yes, Mandy?"

SPLAT!

TBC


	2. Do you want a ring, Grissom?

CHRISTMAS WITH THE HOJEMS

Part two.

More fluff!

A sequel to Dilemma. (You don't need to read Dilemma first, but you should know that Grissom's first encounter with Greg's family was a bit embarrassing. If you want to know what happened, please read the chapters 'Christmas Dilemma' and 'Valentine's Day part one').

Note: The Jack London story that Greg refers to is 'To build a fire.'

Oooh, CSI won the People's Choice Awards! And as an extra bonus, Erick Szmanda stood right behind William Petersen, (just as he did when they won the SAG award!) thus feeding my slashy fantasies!

Hopefully, there'll be lots of pictures of that!

* * *

"Come on, come on..." Greg growled impatiently. He was having trouble with his tie. "Is this thing crooked?" He finally asked, turning around so I could judge.

I reached out and straightened it.

We were getting ready for dinner –a formal affair, completely different from the family reunion that Greg had organized the year before. Greg's grandfather had insisted on celebrating an old fashioned Christmas in his Minnesota home, and the family had indulged him.

"Ready?" Greg asked.

I surreptitiously checked on my zipper, and nodded. We left the room together.

Greg kept glancing at me as we went down the stairs. He must have noticed that I was less than thrilled about the party.

"Hey, cheer up," he said, "They cooked cod for papa Olaf, but there'll be turkey too."

Actually, food was the least of my concerns. It was meeting the family again that I wasn't looking forward to .

Introductions had already been made the night before when, exhausted from the long drive from the airport, Greg and me had staggered into the living room.

"He's here!" Greg had announced as if everybody had been waiting for me, but by their reaction I could tell that I was, in fact, the last person they expected to see. They gaped and stared mutely at me, and if Mama Asty hadn't started making hurried introductions, we would have stood frozen in place the rest of the evening.

It was an uncomfortable start, and things went downhill from there.

Me, who had fantasized about sharing a bed with Greg in front of a cozy fire, had ended up sleeping alone on a twin bed next to Greg's. We were staying in the Hojems kids' old nursery, a room with paper-thin walls that let you hear every conversation going on in the next rooms, and let others hear even the softest whisper uttered inside.

Not very conducive to romance.

Greg had apologized and explained that traditionally, single members of the family stayed in the attic. I could have pointed out that he was not single anymore, but I didn't. Clearly, the Hojems didn't think that being with a man old enough to be your father qualified as a relationship.

* * *

The kids, who had behaved so well in the afternoon, turned into savage beasts in the evening, and it took Greg quite a while to make them sit quietly through dinner.

I helped him, but I kept reminding myself all along that they were not my responsibility.

I couldn't help worrying about them, though. It was obvious that they misbehaved in order to get their parents' attention. Mostly, they failed.

Greg's sisters were ok, but they were overburdened and didn't get much help from their husbands. Greg was right; his brothers-in-law were boring, stuffy guys indeed. Matt and Stan acted like Victorian parents, who believed that children should be seen, not heard. They were more concerned with business talk.

They were talking earnestly in a corner of the room. I wasn't particularly interested, but once I involuntarily caught part of their conversation, I needed to know the rest.

They were whispering, but _I _was reading their lips.

"Gregory's been sucking up to the old man, as always." Scoffed Matt.

"So? That doesn't mean the old man's going to hand over the business to him."

"But what if...?"

"Greg doesn't know anything about Olaf's business; none of the Sanders kids do. We've done the managing all these years-"

"Sure, but if Olaf wants to give his golden grandkid full control of the company, he will."

"Ah, shit," Stan sighed.

Ah, shit, indeed.

No wonder Greg had been evasive about the conversation he and his grandfather had had that afternoon.

Was he taking over his grandfather's business?

Dinner was a blur after that.

After the kids were put to bed, the adults got together in the living room for some quiet conversation.

I was staring at the fire when Greg plopped down beside me.

"Hey!"

"Hey, Greg."

My greeting was apparently less enthusiastic than he expected.

"What's up?" he asked.

"With what?."

"With you," he replied, "You're usually perkier than this after eating chocolate cake. I saw you demolish Ingrid's slice after you finished yours-"

"She didn't want it-" I mumbled defensively.

"I know," he smiled, "My point is, you ate two slices of chocolate cake, but you're not happy." he teased, "So, what's up?"

"Nothing." I said quietly.

Nothing, except that he was probably keeping secrets from me.

"Ok," he said slowly. "If you say so."

We were silent for a while.

"You know..." he said after a moment, "I was thinking... maybe we could go out tomorrow, you and me."

"Go out?"

"Yeah. We could leave after breakfast and, I don't know, do a little sightseeing. We could explore the neighboring farms. Most close during winter, but that would make it all the more fun, don't you think?" he glanced at me, "Who knows, we could end up reenacting one of those Jack London stories you love so much-"

I glanced at him, trying to gauge his sincerity.

It didn't help that he was smiling slightly, as if there was a punch line somewhere in the things he was saying.

"On he other hand..." he paused, "We could simply walk along the highway until we get to some nice hotel...A room, Grissom," he said enticingly, "How does that sound?"

"There are no vacancies," I replied, "I checked."

"You checked?" he asked incredulously. "Without telling me?"

Uh, oh. Busted.

"I would have told you if I had _found_ a room." I mumbled evasively.

We stared at each other. We'd been trying _not _to fight over this situation, but we were clearly running out of patience.

"I know it's been uncomfortable, Grissom." he said quietly. "But look," he added, trying to lighten up, "If we can't find a room, then all we have to do is find us a cave-"

"There are no caves around here." I said in a slightly patronizing tone.

"I was joking, Grissom," he said patiently. "But hey, if we can't find a room or a cave, why don't we just spend the night in the open? You know, get some camping gear with us and-"

"Do you have any camping gear around here?" I asked skeptically.

"We have a couple of sleeping bags somewhere." He shrugged, "As for the rest, we'll just have to tough it up out there, Grissom; you know, be as one with nature."

I pulled back, as if to see him more clearly.

"Are you serious about this, Greg?"

"Sure. It'll be fun. You like camping, don't you? And there's two of us, so in case we need to build a fire, things will turn out fine."

I scoffed.

"You've been reading my Jack London stories."

"Just the one." He smiled. "So, what do you say?"

"What about your nephews and nieces?"

"They're going to open their Christmas gifts tomorrow morning." He said, "They're gonna get plenty of toys," he added knowingly, "So they're going to be busy for a couple of days. Besides," he added, glancing around, "It's about time they spend some quality time with their parents. So," He said, turning to me, "What do you say?"

I hesitated just for a second.

"All right," I said, "Let's do it. We'll need flashlights and plenty of water; some food too-"

"It's already been taken care of," he replied, "Mama Asty promised to pack us some nice leftovers. A roasted chicken, too. Oh, and some boiled eggs and a thermos of coffee-" He eyed my feet, "Ingrid's husband's gonna lend you a pair of boots."

"What about the sleeping bags?"

"Nah, we don't need them." He said casually, "There are about a dozen farms at our disposal; all we have to do is force a door open, and-"

"That's B &E -" I argued.

"So?" he shrugged, "They're papa Olaf's neighbors; I know them and they know me. We'll simply leave them a note and some money to pay for the broken window or the busted door lock."

I stared at him, not quite believing what I was hearing.

He sighed.

"Fine." he said, "We won't do any B&E. We'll spend the night out there, in the cold. Or maybe we'll simply come back here and sleep on those twin beds upstairs." He lowered his voice, "I thought you'd jump at the idea of being alone with me in one of those roomy farms, out there. Just imagine: You and me in a big bed… And not another soul in miles-"

Greg and me alone…? I was practically salivating at the thought.

"Ok," I said, gulping down, "But let's take our own bedding, ok? We can't just leave our DNA on some stranger's bed."

"Ok," he nodded, as if he was making a mental note, "Anything else?"

"Let's take a quilt, too." I said.

* * *

We didn't break into any farm. After walking aimlessly for hours, Greg led us to a small cabin that lay far from the main road. According to him, the owner always left a key under some rocks, and all we had to do was dig in the snow until we found it. He was right.

We didn't waste time building a fire; after weeks of being apart, our priorities had changed. We were cold and hungry, but once we reached for each other under the blankets, there was enough heat to sustain us, and the hunger for food gave way to a different kind of hunger.

We lay close together after that.

Greg was dozing, unaware that I was wide awake –awake and worried. I kept thinking of the things his brothers-in-law had said. What if they were right, and papa Olaf made Greg an offer he couldn't refuse? Would Greg really take over the Hojem's business? What the hell was that business all about, anyway?

And where was it? In Las Vegas? Or in Minnesota?

But before I tormented myself any further, Greg inadvertently put me at my ease: He mumbled something in his sleep and then turned and wrapped an arm and a leg around me.

His possessiveness made me smile.

Maybe I had nothing to worry about? Greg cared about me, after all; I trusted him to make the right decision.

Feeling optimistic, I wrapped my arms around him, too.

I didn't fall asleep, though. For a while I simply lay there, basking in the silence that enveloped the cabin. I loved Greg, and I liked talking to him, but we'd spent the whole day talking –he told me things about his childhood, and I told him stories that I'd read. We'd never spent so many hours together, alone; it was more than I was used to.

I needed a little quiet too. All I wanted was to enjoy the closeness… In silence.

I should have known that it would not last long…

Greg stirred a little.

"Hey…" he mumbled.

"Mmmmh."

"You know..." he mumbled, "I was thinking… You never told me how you managed to convince Ecklie."

"Mmmh?" I couldn't believe he wanted to talk about _Ecklie,_ of all people.

"You said he gave you a hard time-" he added.

"Mmmh."

"Well?" he insisted. "What did you do?"

I didn't answer, but I opened one eye to see his reaction.

He rose himself on one elbow and looked down at me.

"Are you awake, Grissom?"

"Mmmh." I mumbled noncommittally.

"Ah, poor baby," he commiserated, "You're still tired, huh?"

"Uh, huh."

Actually, I wasn't that tired; I just didn't want to talk.

"Ok," Greg said, patting my chest, "Try to get some sleep, then."

To my dismay, he turned and lay on his own side of the bed. That's not what I wanted.

I stared at his back for a moment.

"I resorted to blackmail." I confessed.

Ha! That got his attention. He turned back to me.

"Blackmail?" he asked.

"I told him that I had pictures from a seminar he attended in Florida three years ago." I explained, "That was enough to make him sign my request."

"Really? What's in those pictures?"

"I don't even know if there are any pictures." I replied.

"You bluffed?" he asked incredulously. "And he fell for it?"

We had a laugh over that.

"I'm impressed!" he said. "I didn't know you could be so devious."

"Yeah, well, I had to do something." I shrugged, "He was giving me a hard time. Besides, you were right -I was entitled to take some time off. I was tired, I hadn't taken a day off in-"

"And mostly," he interrupted, "You were missing me like hell."

He looked expectantly at me.

"Well…" I was going to deny it once again, but then I thought, why not just admit it? "All right," I said, "I was missing you like hell."

"Ha!" he exclaimed in triumph, "I knew it!"

And he dove under the covers to reward me for telling the truth.

Later, we got up and took possession of the cabin. First, we built up a fire; then we hung our clothes to dry, put the food in the cupboards, and even put new batteries on a small radio that the owner kept next to his bed.

We ate in front of the fire.

"This is romantic," Greg mumbled with his mouth full.

"It is," I nodded, and then I burped. "Excuse me."

"_That_'s not so romantic." He smirked.

I smiled.

I pushed away the slice of chocolate cake that I was about to eat, then I reached for the chicken leg that he was gnawing on, and put it back on the plate. I leant forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"Wow," he smiled, "You chose _me_ over chocolate cake? Now, that's romantic."

* * *

We were holding each other tightly under a heavy quilt, and the fire was the only light in the cabin. Ah, my fantasy had come true.

I was feeling so confident in our relationship, that I decided to broach the subject that had been bothering me.

Of course, I wasn't direct about it.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked, and I felt him nod. " Your brothers-in-law work for your grandfather, right?"

"Uh, huh."

"They've managed the business-"

"For years," he finished. "Yeah."

"What about you? Did you ever want to work for papa Olaf?"

"Me?" he asked, and this time he pulled back to look at me, "What do you mean?"

"I was wondering how much you know about your grandfather's business."

"I own some stocks," he said cautiously, "Why?"

"Because..." But I wasn't about to admit that I'd been eavesdropping on Matt and Stan. "Well, I was just wondering if your brothers-in-law were trustworthy-"

"Oh, they are." He said, tucking his head under my chin again. "They suck as parents, but they're great businessmen." He added, "Papa Olaf has nothing to complain about."

Well, that answered my question. Maybe.

"I like this cabin." I said, mostly to change the subject.

I felt his cheek balloon into a smile.

"Nice, huh?" he said "You can't see it right now, but there's a river nearby. It's frozen and dangerous in winter, but you should see it in the spring. People come to fish," he said, "You like fishing, right?"

"Oh, I haven't done that in years."

"Well, then maybe you should take it up again." He said and then he pulled back again, "We could come back." he said, becoming more animated, "Wouldn't you like that? Maybe we could take a weekend off in May. Think we could manage that?"

"I guess." I said. I didn't think we could –not unless I found something really dirty about Ecklie- but the idea of coming back did appeal to me. "Do you think the owner would let us use it?" I asked, "I mean, we could rent it-"

"Well-" he hesitated.

"Money wouldn't be a problem." I said grandly.

"Oh, the owner doesn't need the cash." He replied, "If you want to use this place, all you have to do is be nice to him."

"Nice?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, "_Nice_. You know."

I rose myself on one arm and loomed menacingly over him.

"Greg? Have you ever been _nice_ to that guy?"

He snorted.

"Oh, wow. You're jealous."

"I'm serious." I said.

He calmly looked up at me.

"The cabin's mine." he said placidly.

"It is?"

"Uh, huh." he nodded. "Papa Olaf gave it to me. That's what he called me for, yesterday. We had a little talk, and then we signed all the papers-"

"Wow." I mumbled, glancing around. "You _are_ his favorite."

"Actually..." He hesitated, "Yeah, I am, but that's not what this gift is all about."

I sat back.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" he hesitated, "It's a tradition. You see, when each of my sisters and brothers got married, my grandfather gave them a house. So, hum, that's why he gave me this cabin."

"But you're not-"

"I know," he said, "I'm not married. But that's not the way he sees it. He thinks there's something special going on between you and me."

I was speechless. And moved.

Greg rubbed my face.

"Look, no one believed you would come," He said, "Not my sisters or my cousins, or my brothers-in-law. When I drove to the airport to pick you up, they stayed behind, betting on the excuses that you would give me for not being on the plane. So, when they saw you enter the room… They couldn't believe it."

Oh.

"Papa Olaf was impressed." Greg smiled, "He told me that as far as he's concerned, you and me are… you know. So, he gave me the cabin –It was his favorite fishing spot, by the way."

I was still speechless.

He became a bit emotional too, so he changed the subject.

"Can I, hum, turn on the radio again?" he asked, and he reached for it.

"Sure," I said at last. "But no punk, Greg." I warned gruffly. "And no rap, either."

"Fine, fine," he muttered as he fiddled with the dials. "You're no fun, sometimes." He added. "There." He said after a moment, "What about some nice Christmas music?"

I wasn't too keen on that either, but before I could say anything, he returned to his side of the bed.

After a moment I reached for his hand.

We lay close together in silence, simply holding hands.

He couldn't stay mum for long, of course.

"So," he said suddenly, "Do you want a ring, Grissom?"

I snorted.

"I could get you a diamond," he added enticingly.

I glanced at him. He was smiling mischievously.

Fine. If he wanted to joke, then I would joke too.

"I'd rather have a gold band." I said.

"Good." He approved. "I think mama Asty has an antique gold ring in her jewelry box-"

"Oh, no," I said, "You'll have to _buy_ me one. I don't think your grandmother would want her ring to end up in the place that I have in mind for it -"

I glanced at him and laughed when I saw him gape.

"Wow," he mumbled at last, "Would you…? I mean, would you really wear a ring down there?"

"I might." I said.

Obviously, he didn't know whether I was serious or not. But before he said anything, another Christmas song began.

"Hey, I like that one." He said enthusiastically. "It's a gay Christmas song." He added.

"A _gay_ Christmas song?" I frowned. "I don't think so-"

"Yes, it is," he insisted, "Listen."

"Greg, that's _Bing Crosby_." I said patiently, "He never sang a gay Christmas song-"

"Shhh, listen." He said earnestly.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas,  
Let your heart be light _

"That's not a gay song-" I argued.

"Shut up."

_From now on,  
our troubles will be out of sight _

_  
_"At least, until we go back to Las Vegas-" I mumbled.

"Shhhhh."

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas,  
Make the Yule-tide gay- _

"Oh, now I get it." I said.

* * *

THE END 


End file.
